


Strawberry Soda

by wrathwritesthings (leviathan_wrath)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: F/M, First Date, Moogle Chocobo Carnival, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Second-Hand Embarrassment, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11981802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviathan_wrath/pseuds/wrathwritesthings
Summary: Prompto asks you out to the Moogle Chocobo Carnival.





	Strawberry Soda

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested on tumblr. The request reads: _could you make a fluffy prompto x reader where he asks her out on a date to the chocobo carnival and they do cute shit like pet chocobos and some activities from the carnival, and it ends with a kiss by the fireworks? (and like, prompto being prompto is his cute-awkwardish self)_
> 
> Cheesier than five-cheese pizza. I’m sorry that this feels kinda rushed. I dunno, it just read really weird to me since before all my heavy-handed editing it was on the knife’s edge of way too much detail and being threadbare. However, I hope you still like it!
> 
>  **Warnings:** Too Much Fluff, SFW Despite Some Initial Stuff, Second Hand Shame, Intense Tense Flippage, Maybe OOC?, I Feel Like I Made Prom a HUGE Dork

**Strawberry Soda**

He thinks you’re out of his league. 

Way, way, _way_ out of his league. 

But that doesn’t stop Prompto from constantly hanging around you, snapping pictures, and telling lame jokes interwoven with pop culture references that are sometimes a little too obscure, even for you. And you honestly think the freckled blond is, well, _amazing_.

He’s never been to the Moogle Chocobo carnival and neither have you. 

So when he approaches you after endless days of selfies, casual arcade trips, and café visits that are _never_ called “dates,” he has your full attention. He asks you out, trying to play it cool with his cheeks on fire and his blue gaze struggling to stay steady with yours:

“So, um, (y/n)… Do you like carnivals?”

You slowly raise your eyebrows at his shifty eyes. 

Though he’s sitting across from you at the small table in the cozy café that has become your typical lunch spot, he looks like he’s trying to put more distance between the two of you. He leans back in his chair, balancing on the back legs, arms behind his head in what you assume he _thinks_ is a casual pose.

After a moment of wondering if he might accidentally topple over, you slowly respond, “Yes. I do. Why?”

“Oh, huh. Nice. Real nice.” He nods his head too much, so much so that he starts to look like a bobblehead. “So… Ever heard of the Choco- the Moogle Chocobo carnival? The Altissia? I mean, the one celebrated- held- the one held in Altissia?”

“I’ve heard of it, yeah.” You’re biting the inside of your cheek now, trying desperately not to laugh and shake his confidence.

Prompto takes a breath, nearly sucks all of the air out of the room for it, and says, “Go with me.” Blue eyes widen in horror when he realizes he basically _commanded_ you to go on a date with him and he practically yells, “If you want to!”

A few people look over and you throw them an irritated look as if to say, “Mind your business.” 

The steel legs of his chair thud against the tiled floor as he finally sits like a normal person, ears bright red and eyes downcast, pale blond eyelashes ghost over caramel freckles. His posture is slouched now, that casual façade shattered into a million pieces. 

You take a long sip of your drink before drawling, “Yeah, I’ll go.”

The corner of his mouth struggles to pull up into a self-deprecating smile. “Yeah, heh, I understand- Wait. What? _Yes?!_ ”

You shrug, sip your boba tea under that intense blue gaze, and reply, “I’ve never been before and it should be fun. Especially if it’s with you.”

Internally, you revel in the ease with which you can make this guy blush. 

Bumping your hand against his, smirking at him (or _any_ look from you, really), and saying his name with a slight inflection never ceases to have Prompto Argentum blushing from shades that range from strawberry milk to candied cherry. 

It’s easy and fun.

And then what you just committed to sinks in.

For a first date, it’s a _little_  on the extreme side. Not that you think carnivals with kitschy kiddie games themed around Moogles and Chocobos are akin to going out and roughing it in the wilderness for a date or anything like that. No, of course not. 

It’s more the location- the _logistics_  of the date that makes it a bit of a huge, _massive_ leap from elbowing each other in an arcade and splitting sandwiches at a café. It’s outside of Insomnia and all the way in scenic _Altissia_ : A romantic city spot. 

You try not to think about it too much. However, as you pack for the trip it sits heavily on your mind. Sure, all your hanging out and chilling sessions with the blond has built up a comfortable rapport between you two. The attraction is certainly mutual. 

 _But_ …

What are you supposed to _do_? That’s the question. The question _isn’t_ : What does Prompto expect out of you? Because you know, better than anyone else, that the blond doesn’t expect a damn thing out of you. At most, he expects you’ll have fun. This isn’t an overnight trip with strings attached.

You two waffle around the idea of staying the night in the city since you both want to watch the fireworks. 

“Two separate rooms,” Prom immediately says as you both look for a place that has vacancy (which, by the way, is almost impossible to find and you swear the shutterbug gets his royal friend to pull some strings). When he says it, he looks completely serious, not coy.

And like that, the blond unwittingly puts the vast majority of your anxieties to bed.

After what can only be described as an excursion (especially with chatterbox Prom and his tendency to flip through radio stations rapid-fire and crank up the volume), you make it to the city. But you don’t care about the adorable decor. Oh, no. Because the second you step foot in the city you see _them_ … 

Chocobos. 

Chocobos _everywhere_.

“This is so amazing!” Prompto nearly cries, hands over his mouth, stars in his eyes.

After spending entirely too long petting Chocobos and posing with them about a million different ways (“Gimme the ultimate pose, (y/n)! Oh! That looks so cool! Now, something _cute_ … Wh-What’s that look for?”), you drag the blond away from the friendly creatures by pointing out your time constraints. 

If you go to a carnival, you _have_ to maximize your time, right?

“Let’s get ice cream,” you suggest, guiding Prompto by the shoulder as he flips through his photos. “Or funnel cake! Gosh, I haven’t had that in _such_ a long time.”

Blue eyes flicker up to meet yours and he grins. “Sounds good! I think I saw-”

Puzzled by his somewhat horrified expression, you don’t have time to ask what’s wrong. Because what’s wrong barrels right into you. All thoughts of food are forgotten the second you get bodied by someone in a Moogle costume. You stumble into Prompto and grab onto the Moogle on instinct. 

Well, the costumed weirdo takes your embrace to mean you’re down for a _dance_.

After getting a somewhat apologetic sounding “ _Kupo_!” you’re placed rather firmly next to the Moogle and instructed to follow their moves. Each time you look away, they make a sterner “Kupo!” and overemphasize their gestures. You look to Prompto for help, but he’s already taking pictures like a madman, a huge grin on his face.

“Okay,” you sigh in defeat, squaring your shoulders and mimicking the Moogle’s pose, “let’s _do this_.”

Face on fire, you dance lamely in sync with the enthusiastic Moogle and can’t help but laugh at Prompto’s over-the-top cheers. You raise your arms and spin around, finishing the little dance, and the Moogle thanks you for your wonderful performance with a giant, fuzzy, kinda stale-smelling embrace. 

Awkwardly, you pat their back even though you can’t get your arms around them.

“(y/n), I didn’t know you were _such_ a good dancer,” Prompto teases, looping his arm through yours and pulling you away from the kinda overly attached Moogle. They wave goodbye with both of their hands and you wave back, still flushed.

“When it comes to a giant Moogle gyrating on me, I’m pretty good,” you joke, rolling with it.

Needless to say, you _need_ that ice cream in order to cool down now. 

The lame dancing? You already put that out of your head. But you feel like a kid with a crush the second Prom links his arm with yours and begins to slowly, steadily loosen the link so your hands get closer and closer as you two walk around on the hunt for food.

“I think we’re getting close,” you muse, scrunching up your nose at the aroma of syrupy sweets and fried batter. 

Doubtful, considering you’ve just made one giant loop around the place, picking up t-shirts and other souvenirs to remember the day along with photos on top of photos. You even got a picture of Prom posing seductively with Kenny the Crow.

“(y/n)! I need a picture with him! _Please_?” Prompto had begged, eyes all wide. “Noct’ll love it!”

“Fine,” you’d sighed dramatically, like it was such a bother.

And, to be honest, you _probably_ saved the blond’s life. As Prompto switched between poses, the giant crow mascot started to lift their signature bottle of soda until you pierced them with a deadly glare, still snapping away with the camera. 

Slowly, hesitantly, they lowered the bottle back to their side and let the shutterbug escape unscathed.

On your quest for food, you two played a couple of games like Whack-a-Cactuar and some shooting game, too, and now the dead-eye carries a ridiculously oversized Moogle plush on his back just for you. Unfortunately, you couldn’t play many other games. 

The place is so crowded that there are seemingly endless lines for the attractions.

Prompto side-eyes you when you mention the aroma of food. “Not to be mean, _but_ this whole place smells like one giant cakeball,” he points out, lower lip slightly pouted. You’ve been wandering aimlessly for hours now, it’s evening, and you’re both running on fumes. “Oh! My poor stomach!”

As if on cue, the blond’s stomach gurgles pathetically.

“Y’know, if we eat something with a bunch of sugar we might get sick.” You try not to stare at a little kid with a towering ice cream cone. “However, I don’t think we’ll have many options here.”

Before you two can find your prey, a booth catches your eye. Bright yellow paint, streamers, confetti, and a man dressed in the most _ridiculous_ outfit you’ve ever seen (though, secretly, you kinda want the outfit). Inevitably, you’re distracted from your hunt yet again by another dazzling attraction.

“Chocobo races!” You and Prompto yell at the same time, grabbing each other’s shoulder and pointing at the massive cartoon Chocobo sign.

Maybe you have a competitive streak that you didn’t know about before you’re pitted against the blond. Maybe his somewhat devilish grin the second he mounts up is what stokes that burning desire to _win_. Maybe you just wanna pay him back for not holding your hand earlier, for chickening out and weirdly holding your forearm with a red face and avoidant gaze.

 _M_ _aybe_ …

Well, whatever the reason, Prompto sure as hell is surprised by your competitiveness.

A harshly yelled “Eat it!” and “What do you think this is? A Sunday drive?” later, and you’re handed a medal. You clear the track in under thirty seconds and you’re positive your feathery buddy understands that you two won, ‘cause the Chocobo is bumping its beak against your face and flexing its wings with pride.

“Whoa! I didn’t stand a chance, huh?” Prom chuckles awkwardly, a little unnerved by the fire that still rages behind your eyes.

“You’re the dead-eye and _I’m_ the racer,” you inform proudly, earning a wide grin from your date. What you say next turns him an alarming shade of red. “Besides, we’re both devastatingly attractive and witty. We have to balance each other out _somehow_. Can’t both have _all_ the good traits.”

“Con- _kweh_ -tulations!” The racer congratulates with a cheesy smile and you squint at him.

“Did you just…?”

“(y/n)! Food!”

And like that, you’re distracted from preparing to execute the man for his pun. 

Even if you hadn’t been, Prompto is grabbing you by your hand and pulling you away from the stand over to a little storefront that you’d both overlooked due to the crowds. The little shop smells of fried sweets and fresh flowers. But you’re a little distracted by how your hand seems to buzz in the blond’s grip.

Without letting go of your hand, Prom gestures toward the menu and asks, “What would you like?”

Trying to ignore how damn awkward that just was (I mean, he gestured with his hand _and_ yours), you clear your throat and answer with a shrug, “Ah… Funnel cake. It’s pretty much all sweets here.”

“Mmm. That sounds good.” Prompto turns to the cashier and says brightly, “Two funnel cakes, please.”

“All right.” The cashier punches some buttons and glances up, bags under his eyes from standing behind the counter all day and getting screamed at by children who got all hopped-up on sugar. “And would you like a Moogle or a Chocobo soda with that today?”

You and Prom exchange an awed look. 

“Moogle and Chocobo soda?”

Turns out, the Moogle soda is just strawberry soda with purple and blue pop-rocks sprinkled in (hardly a good idea) and the Chocobo soda is pineapple with blue and orange pop-rocks. So… sugar and more sugar, basically. That doesn’t stop you two from gulping them down like you just crossed a desert. 

Plus, they come with collectible swirly straws that almost immediately get clogged up with pop-rocks.

“What a genius,” you drawl, dripping sarcasm. You remove your straw, wrap it in a napkin, and put it in your bag. Now you’re stuck drinking out of the flimsy plastic cup without a lid. The two of you wander the mostly empty streets, having devoured the funnel cake before even setting foot outside of the shop.

Prompto snorts, “Well, sure was a _marketing_ genius. They got us suckers to buy ‘em.”

“True.”

You watch Prom as he struggles to try and clear his straw, pulling it out of the cup and blowing into it until a pop-rock bullet shoots out and shatters against the ground. The little pieces of sharp sugar catch the carnival lights in the darkness. He downs the rest of his soda just as the fireworks begin. 

This has him choking on the last gulp of sugary, artificial pineapple syrup.

“Ha! You okay?” You snicker at the coughing blond.

“I could’ve _died_! Don’t laugh at me!” Prompto scolds, throwing his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side so he can flick your forehead. You both know he just hammed it up to bring you close. But you don’t care.

Bright bursts of color explode in the sky, taking the shape of Moogles and Chocobos, stars and hearts. Eyelids flutter at the showering sounds, the flashes of light, the smell of saccharine soda and remnants of Prompto’s crisp cologne, the feeling of Prompto’s warmth enveloping you in the dark street. 

From this position, you can feel his heart thudding against your shoulder.

The fireworks show reaches a crescendo. Explosions are more frequent, louder. There’s a sense of urgency in the air.

Prompto’s grip around your shoulders tightens and he begins to pull you toward him, completely forgetting about the soda in your hands. Eyes lock, breath grows shallow. The plastic cup bends between your bodies and ice-cold soda gushes over your hands, drenching you and Prom from your stomach down. 

Prompto yelps and jumps back, the sounds of ice cubes clacking onto the paved street barely audible over the fireworks.

“(y/n)! I’m so sorry!”

You stare at him, heart in your throat, before stepping forward. So caught up in the moment, wanting so badly to kiss him despite the soda debacle, you forget the ice. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. Because one ice cube under the sole of your shoe has you slipping and careening into the blond’s arms. 

He holds you close, hot and cold from the sticky strawberry soda on his stomach.

His swallow is audible, one hand trailing down to your lower back, bolder but still shaky, the other coming up to rest on the nape of your neck. Gently, you push away so there’s just enough space between you two for you to look up into his face in time for him to lean down and press a gentle kiss to your lips. 

He tastes like sugar.

An absurdly loud boom has you two pulling away to look at the lights in the sky. The cacophony almost makes you want to cover your ears, but you don’t want to remove your arms from around the blond. After a moment, you feel pressure against the side of your head as Prompto rests his forehead against you.

Warm breath fills your ear as he whispers, “This… This was the best day ever. Thank you, (y/n).”


End file.
